


Destiny's Bite

by barbex



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Original Vampire Lore, Vampire AU, Zevistair, no beta and the blight won't get us, playing loose with lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27725788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbex/pseuds/barbex
Summary: It turns out, the Crow that Warden Tabris let join is not just an assassin. Zevran is a vampire. Which is slightly disturbing in of itself but especially for Alistair because said vampire is so very attractive.Come for the zevistair, stay for the tropes and the pining.
Relationships: Alistair/Zevran Arainai
Comments: 45
Kudos: 27





	1. Know your assassin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cullenlovesmen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cullenlovesmen/gifts).



> Somebody said "Vampire AU" and, well, this happened. I thought it was too silly and too tropey but T told me that I had to continue it, so here we are.  
> As an extreme novelty for me, this fic is 90% done and it will have ~~eight~~ nine chapters.  
> 

* * *

Zevran is different. Not just in "an assassin who tried to kill the Warden" kind of way and not in the way Alistair's eyes don't know where to look if he's around. Not in the gracefulness of his movements or the way his eyes sparkle under the rim of his hood.

He is different in other, subtle ways. 

The most obvious one is that he doesn't eat with them. Sure, he puts something on his plate and it seems to go into his mouth too, but Alistair eyes the interest the mabari has taken in the elf with suspicion. It seems very likely that Zevran is feeding the dog from his plate when nobody is looking. Alistair does take that as a personal affront because he may not be good at many things but if Granny Melanie has taught him anything, it's cooking.

Zevran doesn't cook, he says he only knows how to cook poison and that's not exactly the kind of person you want to have prepare your dinner. He does make excellent coffee though, and after the first hesitation, Alistair has taken a liking to the bitter, antivan drink. Even though an assassin could probably poison coffee too. He said that he would never spoil good coffee like that but how much can you really trust an assassin?

The other thing Alistair noticed — apart from his excellent physique and strength — is his speed at fighting. Fighting darkspawn doesn't lend itself to much observation, it's chaotic, brutal and dangerous, but sometimes Zevran appears at his side faster than it should be possible. He cloaks himself in a swaying mist, which makes it harder to see him but even with that, he shouldn't be able to cross from the far edge of the battle to his side in a blink of an eye.

Alistair ponders all that, watching Zevran as they make camp again. The sun has gone down and Zevran has pushed back his hood, revealing his straw blond hair, loosely tied into a braid. The tattooed lines on his temple seem to dance in the flickering light of the fire. Alistair has wondered about the extent of these tattoos more often than he cares to admit to himself. 

His eyes go down to Zevran's hands, he has taken off his leather gloves as he opens a bottle of wine. His hands are slim, almost fragile, betraying the deadliness of them when they hold a knife. After removing the cork, he hands the bottle to the Warden Tabris, telling her something about letting the wine breathe, and puts his gloves back on. He smiles at Kallian Tabris but when his eyes meet Alistair's, his smile gets even wider. He winks at him and turns to walk away.

Alistair watches Zevran until he disappears in the shadows. If tonight is anything like the other nights, he won't be back for a while. Alistair looks to his other companions, none of them seem to notice or worry about Zevran's nightly disappearances. 

"Where does he go?" Alistair blurts out.

The conversation around the fire comes to a sudden halt and everyone stares at him.

"I mean, he doesn't eat with us and just disappears. Where does he go?'

Kallian hides her laughter behind her hand and Wynne shakes her head. She comes to sit by his side and puts her hand on his knee.

"Do you really not know?" Her tone is not quite condescending but it still grates on Alistair.

"Not know what?" He frowns at her but Wynne's smile never falters.

She pressed her hand firmer on his knee and smiled softly. "He's a vampire."

"What?'

"Vampire." Kallian says. "Needs blood to survive, doesn't like sunlight, that sort of thing. There also seems to be some Fade connection involved, not quite like a mage but I swear he slips through the Fade to move so fast."

"He leaves at night to feed from animals, like hares." Wynne watches him, as if she expects him to jump up screaming. 

Internally he's almost ready to do that. He whips around to Kallian. "You recruited a vampire? Knowingly?"

"I didn't know at first but after he agreed to fight with us, I asked him a few questions and he told me." 

"And you let him stay?"

"Why not? He has useful skills."

"But..." Alistair looks from one to the other. At the edge of the fire, Leliana, Morrigan and Sten are watching them, a look of mild interest on their faces. "But what if he bites one of us?"

"As I said," Wynne says with a tone of running out of patience. "He feeds on animals, their blood keeps him sustained. He has no need to bite any of us."

"What if he likes the taste better?" Alistair looks from Wynne to Kallian and at last they look a bit worried. "Hah! You didn't think of that, did you?"

"I trust him," Kallian says finally. "Maybe you should just talk to him." With that, the conversation is clearly over for her, she gets up and joins Morrigan at the far side of the camp. A short time later, Alistair can hear them laugh and he's sure that they're laughing about him. 

"There's Zevran," Wynne says and gets up too. "Warden Kallian is right, you should talk to him."

Zevran saunters towards the fire. He always moves like a cat but now he looks like a cat who just ate a very tasty bird. Maybe he actually did?

"I heard you wanted to talk to me?" Zevran sits down a small distance away from Alistair, somehow folding his legs elegantly under himself. 

"Where did you hear that?" 

Zevran chuckles and points to his pointy ears. "Vampire hearing."

"Your ears are pointy because you're a vampire?" Alistair looks at Zevran's profile, noting far more than his ears. No murderous vampire has any right to look so beautiful.

"No," Zevran laughs a little, the tattooed lines on his temple dancing with it. "I was an elf before they made me a vampire." 

"They? The Crows?" Alistair isn't sure why he even cares.

"The Crows have always been the true rulers of Antiva. They bought me from a brothel when I was still a boy and trained me in the various arts of assasination."

"Are all the Crows vampires?"

"Most of them, yes. The leaders are for sure. They take great care of continuing the tradition, making young men and women fight for the privilege of prolonged life and deadly work. I proved to be very capable in that line of work and when I was old enough, they changed me.

"And you —" Alistair gestures at his mouth.

"Drink blood? Yes." He smiles widely. "Tonight I had a tasty fennec."

Alistair stares at Zevran's mouth. His lush lips are pulled wide and he's showing off his pointy canines. Alistair lifts a finger, as if to feel those pointy teeth but he stops himself. 

"What about human blood? Or elves? Or dwarves?"

Zevran is silent. Alistair opens his mouth to ask him again when Zevran moves. He's faster than the eye can see, a graceful slide that seems more like a flash of light at the edge of his vision. Alistair turns his head and Zevran is right there, his nose a fingers width away from his neck. He smells of peaches and a hint of fog in the night.

"Blood," Zevran murmurs. He takes such a deep breath that Alistair feels it on his neck like the whisper of a wind. "Human blood and elven blood is different than animal blood, yes. The taste is delicious, divine. Is that what you wanted to know?"

Alistair tries to speak but his breath is stuck in his throat.

As quickly as he came closer, Zevran moves back to the original distance. "I'm not going to drink from you or anybody else in our illustrious group."

Air finally flows back into Alistair's chest, filling a hollowness that he wasn't aware of. "And you... you want us to just trust you?"

Zevran looks at his hands and chuckles. He removes his leather gloves, stretching his fingers. "I'm asking for your trust, yes." He doesn't look at Alistair and his voice gets quieter. "I understand if you cannot give it."

Alistair swallows before he can answer. "I may need some more time."

"It's quite alright." Zevran stands up and walks to the edge of the camp to watch for unwelcome visitors. His bow leans against his leg and his knives blink in the light of the fire as he twirls them around. Alistair stays at the fire, watching him long after everyone else has gone in their tents.


	2. Blood Red Apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's festivities in town and Zevran wants to dance with Alistair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my usual vain of "I do what I want" I'm gonna update this fic twice weekly because it's done, right? I'm just way too impatient to wait.

* * *

Wynne throws her hands up, glaring at Zevran. "No, I do not wish to speak of my bosom."

Zevran smiles widely at her from under his hood. "But it is a marvelous bosom. I have seen women half your age who have not held up half so well."

Alistair can't help but snicker, even though it earns him an angry glare from Wynne.

"Perhaps it is a magical bosom?"

Wynne whips around to Zevran and hisses. "Stop. Stop talking about my bosom." She stomps away, glaring one last time at Zevran.

Alistair hides his laughter as he comes up to Zevran. "Is it wise to anger the mage who heals us?"

Zevran laughs out loud. "Oh no, it's definitely not wise. But I have certainly never been known for wisdom."

The village they're walking through is nicely decorated, buckets with flowers tied to poles and doorways and colourful strips of cloth fluttering across the street. Children run past them, giggling and chasing each other. Young men strut along with glowing young women hanging on their arms, or the other way around in some cases.

"There seems to be a celebration going on," Zevran remarks.

Kallian scowls and keeps her eyes on the cobblestones under her feet. "I hope that doesn't mean that the inn is filled up." 

Alistair pulls on Zevran's arm to draw him closer to himself and whispers, "Why is she so annoyed about the celebration?"

"I wasn't there of course," Zevran says quietly, "but as I understood it — when Duncan recruited her, she was meant to celebrate her wedding and then her fiance was killed by a noble and then she killed that man. That might have soured her desire for celebrations." 

"Oh yes, that could be it," Alistair says. Kallian doesn't speak much about the events that led to her recruitment to the Wardens but it's obvious that it wasn't a happy occasion. 

The inn has one room left and after a friendly smile from Wynne and a scowl from Morrigan, the innkeeper is glad to give them the room for the price for two persons, if the rest agree to sleep on their own mats on the floor. Kallian and Morrigan throw their stuff on one bed and disappear into the downstairs bar, leaving the decision about the other bed to someone else.

Alistair shrugs and rolls his mat out near the window, after moving a small rickety table to the side. The floor is reasonably clean and maybe he'll be able to see the stars through the window later. He likes the stars, it's one reason why he likes taking up the second night watch. 

"I insist, my dear lady," Zevran says and bows to Wynne. 

Wynne crosses her arms. "I'm not a spoiled little girl, I can sleep on my mat just like everyone else."

"Of course." Zevran nods, a smile distracting from the serious expression around his eyes. "But you're also our beloved healer and our lives depend on your well being."

"Zevran is right," Leliana says, rolling out her own mat next to the bed. "You should take the bed before Sten does."

"I do not require softness for sleep," Sten grumbles and sits down next to the door, leaning against the wall. Alistair has no doubt that he intends to sleep that way.

"Very well." Wynne sighs and puts her bag on the bed. 

Zevran looks around the room and steps over to Alistair, rolling his mat out next to his. He unclasps the heavy cape he always wears during the day to keep his skin away from sunlight, and lays it down on his mat. "I see you watching the sky often," he says quietly. 

Alistair turns away from the cloudless blue sky to look at Zevran kneeling on his mat. His face heats up, even though he has nothing to be ashamed about. "I like the stars."

"I noticed," Zevran says. "In Antiva, some seers tell the future by the stars. Is that something they do in Ferelden too?"

"Not that I know of. At least not officially."

"It's always quite entertaining." Zevran takes one of his knives and lets it twirl around his fingers like a living thing. "I once worked for a seer, finding out little secrets and ticks of the people that came to see her, so that she could impress them with the things she knew."

"That's cheating," Alistair huffs.

"She wasn't a very good seer."

Alistair smiles at that and begins the long process of taking off and storing his armor. Behind him, Zevran stops twirling his knife and starts cleaning the knives with oil. He seems to be entirely occupied with that and Alistair relaxes as he removes the plated metal from himself. 

At last, all the pieces are piled at the foot of his mat. If it were late at night, he would start cleaning and oiling them but right now he doesn't feel like it. He turns back to the window, watching the sky that slowly turns orange as the sun travels towards the horizon.

"Why do the stars fascinate you?" Zevran asks, appearing at Alistair's side. 

"I guess, when I was a boy, I didn't see them often."

"No?"

"It often rains in Ferelden, there's always clouds," Alistair says. "And the pigsty didn't have windows."

"The what?" Zevran stares at him, a frown on his forehead.

"Isolde didn't want me to sleep in the castle. I had a bed in a pigpen," Alistair says with a shrug.

"The..." Zevran snaps his mouth shut and scowls at the stars but doesn't say anymore. He opens the window instead and leans out, looking towards the noise coming from the little chapel. "We should go and see the festivities. They might have candied apples and I think there's dancing."

Alistair shakes his head. "I'm not gonna dance."

"Ah, my dear Alistair, we'll see, shall we?"

"I don't know how."

Zevran takes his arm and pulls him away from the window. His hand feels cold through the thin linen. "I'll teach you. Are you beautiful ladies coming with us?" he asks Leliana and Wynne.

"Yes, why not?" Wynne says and Leliana nods enthusiastically. Sten seems to be asleep already, leaning against the wall like a statue.

"Should we ask Kallian and Morrigan too?" Leliana wonders.

Zevran shakes his head. "I think our esteemed leader would rather spend her time with Morrigan alone." 

Wynne nods knowingly at that and Alistair realizes that he apparently missed an important detail about Kallian's and Morrigan's relationship. He hides his blush and quickly frees his arm from Zevran to dig through his pack for a pair of trousers and a long jacket to wear over his shirt. Leliana chatters excitedly about all the songs she knows and wants to sing, while Wynne follows her, nodding with a sagely smile.

Zevran waits at the door for Alistair. "Come, my gentle knight." 

"I'm not a knight." Alistair ties his sword to his hips and slips back into his boots. Going down on one knee, he pulls the buckles tight. As he changes to the other foot, he notices Zevran watching him and quickly looks back to his boots until he can get up and walk to the door.

"A Grey Warden is at least as good as a knight," Zevran says. He slips his arm through Alistair's elbow and walks down the stairs into the bar with him as if he's a lady, being led by her knight. He doesn't let go as they step outside and all the way towards the fairground in front of the chapel, despite Alistair nervously looking around for people's reactions. 

Alistair glances at Zevran's hand on his arm. His heart jumps when he sees him smile as he looks at the colorful decorations, and he stumbles when Zevran turns his head and directs that smile at him. The sun has gone down, colouring the sky red, and Zevran has his hood slipped back, his golden hair falling in waves over his shoulders. His eyes shine with an amber glow that has Alistair swallow against the rapid beating of his heart.

"You... you like candied apples?"

Zevran looks up to him with a wide grin. "Yes, I think they're delicious. And red like blood." He winks at Alistair.

"But you don't eat."

For a moment a wistful smile flitters over Zevran's face. "I still like the taste and it's a memory of..." He drifts off and then his eyes light up as he points to a decorated platform, lit up by torches. "There! I told you there's dancing." 

Alistair shakes his head. "But I'm not — "

"My lovely Warden, allow me to show you the joys of this dance." Zevran bows, his hand still on Alistair's arm, and he looks up to him. "Please?"

Alistair looks at the raised platform, where couples whirl around, holding onto each other one moment and then swinging wide apart in another. "But not up there, not where everyone can see."

"Right here then." Zevran holds out his arm, waiting for Alistair to step closer.

Alistair swallows, his throat scratching like gravel. He grabs Zevran's hand. His hand is still cold, a calming relief against the hot feeling of Alistair's own body. Zevran's arm wraps around his waist and he pulls him close, their hips flush. Sweat breaks out on Alistair's neck. A soft scent of peaches hits his nose and he breathes in deeply. 

"One step forward," Zevran says, pressing his hand against Alistair's back. "And then to the side."

Alistair follows the command, clumsily stepping forward, watching his feet to avoid stepping on Zevran's soft shoes. 

"Eyes up here, my knight." Zevran smiles pointedly at Alistair. He grabs Alistair's hand tighter and lifts his arm further up.

Following the movement of his arm, Alistair naturally straightens his back and pulls his shoulders back. Suddenly the dance feels quite differently. Zevran's arm around his waist holds him firm and tight and Alistair has no choice but to mirror his steps as he moves. He looks in Zevran's eyes and they actually manage two full rotations around their little private dance floor before Alistair steps on Zevran's toes again.

"I'm sorry." Alistair stumbles to step back but Zevran holds him tight. 

"Not to worry, dear Warden," Zevran says. "My feet can handle much more. Ah, but the music stopped, you have been rescued."

"I didn't need rescuing," Alistair says. 

"Of course not." Zevran lets go of his arm and steps back with a little bow. "I know you're capable."

"No. I mean... I didn't want to be rescued from dancing. With you." Alistair isn't even sure how he said it but he still hears the echo of his words as he stares at Zevran so they must have come from his mouth. 

"Alistair." Zevran's voice is unusually soft and for a moment, neither of them moves. 

Alistair stares at Zevran's lips. They are drawn into a smile, that's at least something, but there is a sadness to his expression that Alistair doesn't understand and it freezes him up.

Naturally it's Zevran who finds a way of breaking up the unbearable tension with a witty remark and he draws Alistair over to a stall with candied apples. He buys two, handing one to Alistair and if he mentions sometimes over the evening how red Alistair's lips are as they eat them, Alistair ignores it.

But he watches. And he definitely notices how red Zevran's lips are.


	3. Reality bites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair learns what Zevran being a vampire really means.

* * *

"Why are we doing this again?" Kallian grumbles as she jumps behind Sten to let him take the brunt of the attack as she lets her arrows loose under his arm. The mercenaries look strange in the noble house, out of place among the dainty tables and chairs. They were supposed to deliver a note here, being attacked by mercenaries had not been part of the plan. 

"You said we needed the coin," Sten says as the man falls in front of him. 

"That's still true. I just didn't expect it to be so annoying."

Alistair hits another man or woman with his sword, watching the life drain from their eyes as they fall and then looks around in the sudden silence, panting from the exhaustion. The mercenaries are dead at last and not too soon. On this day they have already fought darkspawn in a dungeon, bandits on the road — twice — and now mercenaires in a pretty house. The variety is impressive, but Kallian, Sten, Zevran and Alistair are dangerously tired by now. 

Alistair finds a chair that isn't broken and sits down with a huff. Every bone in his body hurts, his armor pinches into bruises and scrapes and his sword seems to be twice as heavy. He watches as Zevran walks around the pile of bodies to where he is sitting. Even Zevran looks tired, he favours his left leg and there is a cut on his shoulder blue blood seeps out, staining his shirt.

"Can you heal yourself?" Alistair asks with a glance at the injury.

Zevran leans against the wall and sighs, rolling his neck. "Not deliberately. But I will, eventually." He grins at Alistair. "I will stay beautiful, just for you." 

Alistair has another question but a familiar feeling creeps up his neck. He looks to Kallian, catches her knowing look and they both grab their weapons. 

"Darkspawn."

Zevran pushes away from the wall, the knives in his hands twirling and if he winces because of his bleeding shoulder, it's almost unnoticeable. He looks around, confused. "Where?"

"Yes, where?" Sten says.

"Oh gracious!" 

They all turn as a shrill voice with a factitious orlesian accent comes from the top of the stairs. A man in eccentric clothing descends down with a vicious smile. "I have guests? Why was I not informed?" 

Alistair looks from Kallian to the man and back, raising his eyebrows. She shakes her head, that man is not the source of the darkspawn feeling but there's definitely something off about him. 

"Let me get my servants and we can prepare an excellent meal." He steps towards the pile of smoldering bodies and shakes his head. "But it looks like you killed my servants. But don't worry," he turns back around and laughs manically, "I have more servants!"

He twists his hand, a blue spark appears and a hidden door opens in the colorful wallpaper. A group of armed men storms into the room, their armor and weapons heavy and gleaming. 

Kallian jumps up backwards on the banister to have a clear line of fire, Alistair feels Sten at his back and then Zevran rushes over to them, his knife casually slicing the arm of the first approaching mercenary.

It could have worked. They fight well by now, knowing and protecting each other. Kallian's arrows fly fast and hard, Sten and Alistair bash swords away and Zevran flits between everyone, thrusting his knives into armpits, knees and whatever unprotected bodypart he can find. It would have worked, probably, if not the floor had opened up. 

The ground shakes, wood splintering and then a screaming purple demon appears, followed by darkspawn. At the command of the demon, the darkspawn ignore the mercenaries and attack the wardens. 

Alistair and Sten move back towards the wall, desperately defending themselves against the horde of manic creatures and humans. Kallian jumps and ducks, letting her arrows fly whenever she can stand still for the blink of an eye before the horde crowds her and she has to resort to her knives.

When she looks to Alistair, he sees fear in her eyes for the first time. With the darkspawn snarling and biting all around them, they can't fight the mercenaries. They will lose this fight and die for the stupidest job ever and no Warden will stop the Blight.

Kallian cries out as an arrow hits her leg. Alistair looks around frantically, trying to find the archer in the chaos of bodies pressing against Sten's and his shield. Golden hair flies on the outskirts of his vision and then Zevran appears at Alistair's side.

"Kill the demon, I'll take care of the rest," Zevran says. He looks to Alistair, a sad smile on his lips. "Please don't die, cara mia."

"What are you going to...?" 

Zevran's canines stick out of his mouth and he disappears in mist clinging to his body. Alistair ducks behind his shield, holding the brunt of another darkspawn throwing himself against it but then someone cleaves at the creature from behind. A mercenary hacks away at the darkspawn with his battleax. His eyes are unfocussed and he smiles as he hits and hacks, not caring that other darkspawn attack him at the same time. A darkspawn bites into the mercenary's arm and rips out pieces of flesh and muscle but still the man keeps smiling, his arm swinging the axe like a machine.

One by one, the mercenaries attack the darkspawn, bleeding from their necks and smiling in the same disturbing way, fighting without any care for their own safety. Alistair and Sten can finally move and circle around the fight of mercenaries and darkspawn towards the demon. Zevran appears at the edge of Alistair's vision but he can't see what he does. 

"What is going on?" The shrill voice of the strange man has lost its orlesian accent. He gestures at the mercenaries, who ignore him, still smiling as they fight the darkspawn. Some have lost hands or part of their arms and still they smile and hack and kick at the darkspawn. 

Alistair and Sten have reached the demon and hit its barrier. They should have taken Morrigan or Wynne with them to undo the barrier but they didn't expect to have to fight like this. Behind them, the man laughs, and when Alistair looks over to him, he can dive away just in time from a fireball he throws at him. 

As Alistair struggles to get up again, the ground slippery with blood and other fluids, Zevran appears next to the mage. They stare at each other for a moment, the mage gathering energy in his hands but before he can release it, Zevran dashes forward and bites his neck.

The mage cries out, tensing, and then his body goes slack and a smile spreads on his face. He moans as his head falls back, giving Zevran easier access. Zevran pulls him closer, his jaw working as he sucks on his neck. Energy dances around the mage's hands and he moans again, pulling at Zevran, pressing his hips against him. The bulge of arousal in his trousers is unmistakable. 

Zevran releases the man's neck and steps backwards. The mage strains after him, his sparking hands reaching for him. "Master, I need you," he calls after Zevran.

"Kill the demon," Zevran orders, his voice cool and hard.

"Yes, my love." The mage smiles, turns and runs towards the demon. His eyes are as unfocussed as the eyes of the mercenaries. He goes straight for the demon, ignoring Sten in his way. His hands flash with magic and he releases electric arcs into the demon's barrier with every step he takes. 

The demon screams, "I control you!" Purple light jumps from the demon towards the mage and he blinks.

The mage still shoots his magic into the barrier but he seems to be confused by his own actions, staring at his hands. His magic gets weaker, the light from the demon wrapping around his feet and crawling upwards. Zevran runs to him, punching his teeth into the mage's neck before the demon light can cover his throat.

"Master," the mage cries out, his hips snapping forward. A wet spot spreads in the front of his trousers and he moans as Zevran sucks on his neck. Alistair can see him swallow and when he lets go, blood drips from the corner of his mouth.

The mage throws his power at the demon again, his own magic lighting up his skin like silvery veins. He burns, his eyes bulging, his hands turning skeletal as he gives his own life force into the magic and he burns so bright that it hurts to look at him. The demon shrieks as its barrier falls and the magic fully envelops it. It cries out and explodes and the mage crumbles, his body reduced to a mere skeleton covered in skin, having given everything from himself into his magic.

He turns to Zevran, stretching his thin arms towards him, smiling in adoration. "Master, I need you!" he whispers, his voice barely audible. With every rattling breath his pleads become more urgent. "Master, my love, I need!"

Zevran crouches down next to what is left of the man and lays his palm against his gaunt cheek. "Find peace," he says and stabs his knife into the mage's heart. The mage's eyes go wide as he dies but the adoring smile never leaves his face. 

Alistair is frozen as he watches and it takes the growl of a darkspawn next to him to wake him and get him back into the fight. The mercenaries have killed most of the darkspawn but have all fallen themselves. Sten and Alistair take out the rest of the darkspawn, now easier targets as the demon that controlled them is dead. 

At last, the darkspawn are finished and the room is quiet. A few whimpers can be heard and Alistair watches Zevran stalk through the carnage to find the mercenaries and kill them. Each of the mercenaries calls for him, calling him 'Master', if they can still speak, or try to reach for him with whatever limb they still have. Zevran's face is hard as he pushes his knife into one heart after the other and after the last one dies, he looks at Alistair. His eyes are cold and dark.


	4. Know your vampire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter today but a chapter is as long as it takes, right?

* * *

They drag themselves back to the camp on their last strength. Wynne heals Kallian first and then takes care of all the minor injuries they have. Zevran carried Kallian with her injured leg but then he left. Sometimes he appears at the edge of the camp, where the light of the fire doesn't reach but he keeps his distance. He doesn't come to the fire when they eat and at last Alistair gives up on waiting for him and crawls into his tent.

Alistair can't sleep. He kicks at his blanket in frustration and then pulls it back up when the cold air makes him shiver. Finally, he puts on his trousers and boots and wraps a fur around his shoulders to get out of the tent. Wynne has ordered him to rest, so there's no watch coming up for him but he can't stay in the tent, he needs to see the stars and think. 

He pokes at the fire, adding another piece of wood to it and then sits down on a fallen tree trunk and stares at the dancing flames. The sky is cloudy tonight, he can't see the stars, so the dancing flames have to help him think. And he has a lot of thinking to do. 

Zevran biting the neck of the mage, blood dripping from his fangs and the way he looked at Alistair. Thinking back to that hard look, so full of self-hatred and sadness, has Alistair shudder. 

He must have dozed off at some point because when he looks up again, Zevran is adding wood to the almost burned down fire. He glances at Alistair but hides his face behind his hair. After poking the fire a bit, making sure the flames lick at the new wood, he turns around and starts to walk away.

"Zevran," Alistair calls after him.

"Yes?" Zevran says without turning around.

"Stay here?"

Zevran flinches as if he's been hit. "Why?"

"I want to ask you something." Alistair scoots to the side, making room for Zevran on the tree trunk.

Zevran turns around with a sigh. "I know what you want to ask. Yes, I fed from them and made them my thralls. And I had to kill them afterwards because they would have followed me until they died of starvation or something else."

"Oh." Alistair looks back at the fire, thinking about the thralls and how they looked at Zevran. As if Zevran was their whole life and their reason for living. "Does that happen every time?"

"What?" Zevran takes a step towards him, the light of the fire turning his skin golden.

"Do they all..." Alistair waves his hand in front of his eyes. "Does every human you feed from get like that?" 

Zevran slowly comes closer and sits down on the other side of the tree trunk. "Do you really want to know what vampirism is?"

Alistair shrugs. "You're here, right? You're sticking around, you said, maybe I should know some things." He looks over to Zevran, trying to read his face. He wants to know so much about that beautiful vampire.

A smile spreads on Zevran's face, a careful smile, but a smile nonetheless. "I will tell you, my friend." 

Alistair watches him, taking that smile in. It makes Zevran look young and alive and even more beautiful.

"There's several ways of drinking from a human or an elf." The smile falls from his face, the shadows under his eyes getting darker. "I can feed from someone, drinking from them until they're empty and die. It fills me and leaves behind a dead person. I have done that sometimes for a job." His voice has gotten quieter and Alistair leans closer to hear better. Zevran's lips look soft.

"The second way is biting and transforming, making the other a vampire," Zevran continues. "That's done differently, it's a decision, like using a certain muscle. Something would release from my mouth at that moment, and transfer some essence from me to the victim."

"So, just biting someone doesn't make them a vampire?" Alistair can't help but stare at Zevran's mouth, at his white teeth and pointy canines and his soft lips. 

"No, and neither does it make them a mindless thrall."

Alistair shudders as he thinks about the blank eyes of the mercenaries and the mage. "You made them mindless." He looks at Zevran, the memories playing out in his mind. "And... and they... they loved you for it."

Zevran presses his hands together and frowns. "It's not love, it's addiction. It takes some effort but a specific secretion releases when I feed from them and they get addicted instantly. It takes over their mind. It's all they can think about and they will do anything I tell them. All they want is for me to feed from them, they won't eat, they won't sleep, they'll follow me, begging me to feed from them until they die."

"That's horrible." Alistair watches Zevran's hands, clenching around each other. "There's no cure for it?"

"No." Zevran shakes his head. He unclenches his hands, wiping them on his trousers and gets up. "There's no cure. It's a delayed death."

"But..."

"What?" Zevran looks down to Alistair. That hard look is back. 

"He liked it," Alistair mumbles, averting Zevran's gaze. "He was hard and he... he came."

"I know, it's a side effect." Zevran gives him a smile but it doesn't reach his eyes. "It doesn't mean anything." He steps over the tree trunk and walks away.

"Wait." Alistair jumps up and follows him. "Something like that always happens?"

Zevran stops and Alistair runs into him, his nose brushing against his hair. Zevran slowly turns around, his hands brushing the fur over Alistair's shoulders. "No, not always." He smiles at Alistair, his eyes glittering in the dancing light from the fire. 

If Alistair would lean down just a bit, he could kiss Zevran. Just a kiss, he could do that, couldn't he? One kiss, just to know how it is, what it feels like. Would his lips be cold or warm? Would he taste of blood or like the peaches he always seems to smell of?

Zevran still smiles, his eyes flitting between Alistair's lips and eyes. But his hands are up, pushing against Alistair's chest and he recognizes it as what it is, a careful rejection. Alistair steps away before Zevran has to say it.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He walks back to the fire but Zevran touches his arm, making him stop. 

Zevran swallows and his voice is deeper than usually. "Sometimes, a bond can form. With a partner who is willing to give out of love, the vampire will be bound forever. Then, the bite will not hurt and not change the other." Zevran looks at him, an open, vulnerable expression on his face. "It's intimate and highly erotic."

Alistair swallows as his trousers suddenly feel tight. For a glimpse of a moment, he sees himself lying down with him, Zevran's mouth on Alistair's neck, drinking from him as they touch each other. But then the blank eyes of the mindless mage spring to his mind, how he moaned and came into his pants as Zevran drank from him and the fantasy shatters.

"It's a dream," Zevran says, bitterness in his voice. "A fairytale that doesn't come true." 

Alistair swallows hard and pulls the fur closed over his chest. Even with those gruesome memories, he still wants to reach out to Zevran and has to hold onto his hands to stop himself.

Instead Zevran steps closer, his hands stroking up Alistair's arms to his neck. He is suddenly too close and his eyes are hard again. "My dear Alistair, what you feel is not real." Zevran's eyes seem to turn darker with every word. "It's easy to find me attractive, it's easy for me to seduce. I'm a vampire and this is what I do best."

"That is all?" Alistair blurts out and he can't hold back the hurt in his voice.

"Don't worry your pretty neck," Zevran says, the familiar teasing tone back in his voice. "With your tainted blood, you have nothing to fear from me, I swear." He smiles, but it looks practiced. 

The stab of disappointment in Alistair's chest leaves a mark that has him turn and walk away without another word.


	5. The Call of the Fairies

* * *

Alistair draws his sword slowly over the whetstone. It's soothing, it needs just enough focus that his mind stays calm and quiet. He turns the blade, wiping it with a wet cloth, and draws it over the stone again. A shadow falls on the blade and he knows by the scent who it is. Peach with a hint of fog.

"You've been avoiding me, mio amico." Zevran casually strokes over Alistair's arm. 

Alistair looks at his arm, where Zevran's gloved fingers touch his skin. He looks up to Zevran's eyes and he must see something in Alistair's eyes because he pulls his hand away as if he got burned.

Zevran lowers his hand and takes a step so that his back is turned towards the setting sun. "What have I done and may I be forgiven?"

"It's nothing." Alistair returns to the work on his sword, sprinkling more water over the whetstone. He sees Kallian watching him but she quickly looks away when she catches him looking. A few days ago his parentage was revealed and Kallian has not forgiven him for... for whatever that means to an elf from the alienage in Denerim.

For him it means that he lost her friendship, the only friend he had. None of the others are particularly interested in him and Zevran... Zevran doesn't want him. And just being friends with him — Alistair doesn't know how to do that when he wants so much more. When he sees his face and hears his voice in his mind every night as he touches himself. 

"Alistair." Zevran's voice is soft. "I'm sorry for disturbing you, for telling you about what I am — "

"That's not it," Alistair interrupts. He almost drops his sword and his fist clenches around the whetstone. "That's not... I can't do this." He leaves, walking blindly away from the fire. The forest closes around him, the last rays of the sinking sun drawing patterns on the mossy ground. Some of the moss has grown flowers on thin stalks and he follows the line of little flowers into the forest. 

As he keeps walking, it gets darker with every step and Alistair now regrets his hasty retreat. Granny Melanie had warned him to never follow trails of flowers and mushrooms. 'The spirits will get you. They will take you and you'll never return.' 

He hears Granny Melanie's voice so clearly in his head, that he turns around to see if she stands behind him. But he is alone and the trail of flowers he followed is gone. Darkness falls like a curtain, making his world small. 

Alistair walks back to where he thinks he came from but there is no path, no flowers, no patterns in the moss. Trees creak all around in the wind that's been picking up since the sun went down. He holds his sword in his hand but he wears no armor and only a thin vest. Cold creeps up his neck. Or maybe it's fear.

He keeps walking, listening to the noises of the woods. Little animals scurry around his feet, and he hears larger animals brush through the trees further away from him. Not every noise is a bear or a wolf but his imagination provides him with images of both for every snapping twig he hears.

A noise behind him has him whirl around, thrusting his sword forward. Zevran leans to the side, the tip of the sword going past his chest as he turns elegantly. 

"Alistair, amico." 

"Zevran! Maker's breath, I almost killed you." 

"Usually that isn't so easy," Zevran says with a smile. "But my heart is indeed vulnerable."

Alistair's own heart beats too fast in his chest and it's not just because of the scare he got. "I... I'm lost. Do you know the way back?"

"Yes, amico, follow me." Zevran turns into a direction that Alistair never would have taken and winds his way through the trees with sure steps. Alistair follows him, grateful that they can't walk side by side, which would have forced a conversation. He is content with watching Zevran walking in front of him, admiring his grace and confidence in every step.

Like a curtain being pulled aside, the forest opens up and at the edge of an open clearing, the fires of the camp burn. 

"Blessed Andraste," Alistair says and steps up beside Zevran. "Thank you, I never would have made it back."

"Why?" is Zevran's only reaction.

"Why do I get lost? I didn't have many places to explore when I was little and I followed a trail of flowers, even though Granny Melanie told me to — "

"No, why did you run away?" Zevran looks straight ahead, as if he watches the camp. 

"I..." Alistair looks at Zevran's beautiful profile and swallows. "I don't know," he lies.

Zevran turns to him. "I swear I will not hurt you, I will never feed from you or change you."

"I know, I believe you." Alistair looks to his feet and wills them to go forward but he stays frozen in this spot. 

"I see how you look away when I'm near, is it so unbearable to see me?"

"Yes. No! I mean..." Alistair's feet finally listen to him and he runs more than walks towards the fire. 

As he approaches, Kallian jumps up from the ground and runs towards him, pulling him into a hug as soon as she's close enough. "Alistair, where have you been? I was so worried."

After a moment of confusion, Alistair wraps his arms around her and hugs her back. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me."

Kallian looks up to him, unshed tears glittering in her eyes. "Don't ever do that again."

Alistair nods. "I promise." He pulls her close one more time and then relaxes the embrace. 

Kallian takes his hand and pulls him towards her tent. "You're sleeping with me tonight, I'm not leaving you alone."

Alistair protests. "I'm fine."

Kallian grins and holds the tent flap open for him. "Warden orders." 

Alistair snickers and ducks into the tent. When he looks back, he sees Zevran watching him, giving him a smile and a nod before he turns to the shadows, taking up his nightly watch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Alistair is pining so much!


	6. Look Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new problem arise with a blast from the past in meeting Taliesen, Zevran's former lover.

* * *

"The Crows send their regards, once again." It's a human standing in the shadow on top of the stairs of a pompous building. His ativan accent is almost non-existent but it's still there. Alistair pulls his sword out and lifts his shield higher. Their position is rather exposed down here and Antican Crows are known for their creative knife work. 

Kallian twirls her own knife in front of her and looks for all the world bored out of her mind. "Is this another attempt on our lives? I'm pretty sure there's no money in that contract anymore."

The human laughs. "It's a matter of principle. And I'm actually looking for Zevran. I was told he's with you."

Zevran steps out from behind Sten, his hood pulled deep into his face against the sun. "Taliesen." Something soft swings in his voice as he says the name. "Tell me, where you sent or did you volunteer?"

"Oh, I volunteered. When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue..." All the self assured confidence suddenly leaves his voice and his face twists into a pained smile. It's gone so quickly that Alistair immediately doubts that it was even there but one look at Zevran's expression confirms that something happened there. The way these two look at each other tells a story that Zevran hasn't shared yet.

Deep fear rises up Alistair's back like cold fog — is this the moment when Zevran will turn on them? 

The human shows his teeth in a fake smile, his long canines marking him as a vampire. "You can return with me, Zevran." He takes a few steps down, his empty hands held out to the side. "I know why you did it, and I don't blame you."

Zevran shakes his head, his gaze dropping to the ground. "No, you don't, my friend."

"Come with me and we'll make up a story. It'll be just like it was before."

"No," Zevran says softly. "It can never be again like it was before."

Taliesen takes another two steps down, but daggers have appeared in his hands. "You can't deny what we have, love."

"You mean the bond?" Zevran lets out a harsh laugh. "The bond with you and Rinna, that you abused?"

"I didn't do anything that wasn't justified."

"You made me kill her."

Alistair stares at Zevran's face, hurting with him for the deep pain he sees in his face.

"She was a liability," Taliesen says, showing his canines in a wide grin.

Zevran turns his face to the side, the shadow of his hood hiding him and when he turns back, his expression is hard. "I'm afraid this conversation isn't leading us anywhere." 

Taliesen grins. "I wonder what warden blood tastes like."

"I heard it's not recommended to drink tainted blood."

"So you haven't tried it?" Taliesen's gaze falls on Kallian and he licks his lips. "How unfortunate." He looks to Morrigan next. "But lucky for us, we have other options." 

Morrigan's staff begins to crackle with red energy and she stares at Taliesen as if she is trying to set him on fire with her mind. Which she probably does.

Taliesen winks at Morrigan, a thin trail of blue blood running down from his lip where he nicked it with his sharp tooth. He looks back to Zevran and his face turns serious again. "So what's it gonna be? Are you coming with me?"

Alistair looks to Kallian, to see her reaction, but Kallian watches Zevran. 

"For you to leave," she says calmly, "we would have to be dead." She glances at Alistair and Zevran follows her gaze. Their eyes meet and Alistair can't breathe for the sudden pain in his chest.

"No," Zevran says, his eyes not leaving Alistair. "I won't let that happen."

"I see, you found yourself another toy?" Taliesen grins widely and dips the tip of his tongue against his canine until a drop of blue blood wells out.

A smile spreads on Zevran's face, dark and vicious, like black poison dispersing in a cup of tea. "You don't understand, my friend, you never have."

"Come one, Zevran." Taliesen's shiny, long daggers glint in a ray of sunlight. "It'll be fun, just like we used to have."

"No, I'm not coming with you," Zevran says, steel in his voice. "And you should have stayed in Antiva."

Before the words have fully traveled through the air, Taliesen moves. Alistair barely sees the glint of the dagger before it scrapes along the top of his shield and he can only thank his training that his next move comes to him naturally, angling and pushing his shield forward and sinking his sword low into Taliesen's leg. His helmet clatters to the ground, he had not fixed the binding under his chin, a stupid mistake he'll probably soon pay dearly for.

An unnatural roar comes from Taliesen's throat, his mouth pulled wide and his canines glinting in the light. Alistair sees his skin redden where the sunlight touches it and he takes a step back, out of the shadow, into the full sunlight. 

"Do you think this will stop me?" Taliesen lets out a vicious hiss and jumps forward. 

Alistair catches him with his shield, even manages to raise his sword to hold against Taliesen's arm but the vampire is too strong. He pushes him over, his mouth stretched open wide, ready to strike like a snake with long, sharp teeth. His teeth are a fingers width away from Alistair's face and he knows without doubt that Taliesen doesn't need to bite his neck to permanently hurt him.

He hears an angry scream and a blurry shape crashes against Taliesen, pushing him off Alistair's body. Zevran snarls as one of his knives sinks into Taliesen's neck, the other holding off Taliesen's daggers. They claw at each other, ripping the skin off their faces, while the sun visibly burns them red. 

Zevran spins away from Taliesen, holding his arm pressed to his stomach, the knife loose in his hand. It's an obvious opening and Taliesen doesn't hesitate. He moves in a blink of an eye, appearing where Zevran stands but he is gone. He tries to turn around but Zevran is behind him and slits his throat. 

With an angry gurgle, Taliesen grasps at Zevran, jumping forward and halts as Zevran's dagger drives deep into his heart. He stares down in disbelief, blue blood pouring from the wound, his knees giving out, and he falls forward into the sand.

Zevran steps back into the shade and another attacker almost gets to him but Alistair rushes in with his sword, cutting the man down. Zevran looks at him with wide eyes, his mouth open in a silent scream. 

The other attackers are no match for Kallian, Sten and Morrigan and the fight is over quickly. They all turn to Zevran, and then to Taliesen's corpse. The dead vampire lies face first in the sand in his own blood, and as they watch, the pool of blue blood starts to smoke and quickly erupts in flame, burning the body until nothing but the skeleton is left. 

Zevran gasps, pressing his fist to his chest. He grabs Alistair's arm, a whimper leaving his mouth and then his eyes roll back and he collapses. Alistair catches him before his head can hit the ground. 

"Zevran, what's wrong?" Alistair feels for hidden injuries, desperate to find a reason for Zevran lying limp in his arms. There are burns and scratches all over his face but he can't find any cuts in the leather of his armor. 

"He is not dead," Morrigan says, a sneer on her face as if that fact is a personal affront to her. "'Tis a pity."

Alistair whips around with an angry snarl and Kallian glares at Morrigan until she bows her head once, which is almost as good as an apology. "Let's take him to Wynne," Kallian says. "Can you carry him?" she asks Alistair. 

"Yes." Of course he can. To the end of the world if he has to.

Back at the camp, Wynne frowns as she looks Zevran over. "There is very little life in a vampire to begin with but it is as if someone ripped away a part of him. The man he killed, was he someone special?"

"Yes," Kallian says. "A friend, from Antiva. He wanted Zevran to come with him." 

"He was more than that," Alistair says quietly. "He spoke of a bond."

"Oh," Wynne says. "If they were still bonded, his death must have felt like he died himself. The pain must have been excruciating." Wynne's hands glowed with healing magic as she hovered them over Zevran's body. "This is an injury I cannot heal. He has to rest and it will hopefully heal on its own." She lowers her hands and turns to Kallian. "I'll make an ointment for his burned skin, it needs to be applied twice a day. But I can't do anything for the severed bond."

Kallian nods and stands up. Alistair still kneels on the ground with Zevran's head in his lap and looks up to her. She puts her hand on his shoulder and smiles softly. "I want you to watch over him as he heals. Bring him into your tent and make sure he's comfortable. I'll bring you the ointment." 

Alistair swallows and nods. There's no point in denying that he won't let anybody else do this. He gathers Zevran in his arms and carries him into his tent, laying him down on his own mat. He kneels down next to him and undoes belts and buckles until he can slide off the padded leather jacket. He removes Zevran's boots and the leather pads over his trousers, until Zevran lies in his linen shirt and smalls on the mat.

"You should remove the rest too," Kallian says as she enters the tent. "His undershirt needs to be washed too. As does yours, I dare to guess." She puts down a large bowl with steaming water and a few pieces of cloth. "For washing him and yourself. Go on, take your clothes off."

"Ehm..." Alistair's face heats up in a blush. It's not like this is the first time Kallian sees him naked but he still can't help it. Some things that chantry sisters bang into your head as a young boy, you just can't easily forget. 

Kallian raises her eyebrows and holds out her hand. Alistair sighs, unlaces everything he wears and pulls clothes over his head and down his legs until he sits stark naked on the ground and hands her his smallclothes and the shirt he wears under his gameson. She pointedly looks at Zevran and Alistair sighs again and unties the laces on Zevran's shirt. It takes him some maneuvering, Zevran is still unconscious and undressing him is difficult. 

Kallian leaves with their clothes, after ordering that he washes Zevran and himself and then applies the ointment to Zevran's burns. It's not warm in the tent and the hot water is quickly cooling off. He washes Zevran first, gently wiping over his face, down his neck and his chest. 

Alistair tries to focus on just the washing but his touch soon turns into soft caress. He can't help himself, he has never seen anything so beautiful. Wavy lines, tattoos that Alistair wanted to touch since the first time he saw them, wind down Zevran's neck to the left side of his chest, framing the elegant curve of his neck and his muscled chest. Another two lines stretch over the side towards his back. Alistair rolls him on his side, wiping down his back and, with his cheeks flushing hot, follows the lines down to his lower back. He hesitates, rinses the cloth out again and then strokes over the firm roundness of Zevran's ass. Stretching his hands over the supple flesh, he feels himself harden and bites the inside of his cheeks to stop his arousal.

He rolls Zevran back, holding his breath as Zevran lets out a groan. Alistair waits but there's no further reaction and he slowly lets out his breath and continues to wash until all that's left to wash are Zevran's genitals. 

"I'm just washing, nothing else, just..." He repeats the words to himself as he rinses the cloth out and then places it over Zevran's penis. With another breath, he puts his hand on the cloth and dares to press down. He watches Zevran's face for any signs of waking as he gently wipes down the sweat and grime that always collects in these creases, using his other hand to move Zevran's cock up and to the side. A breath leaves Zevran's open mouth and Alistair freezes up again.

When nothing further happens, Alistair remembers to breathe again. He puts the cloth aside, dabs the remaining moisture away and picks up the jar of ointment. He scoops out a blob of the salve and applies it to the burns and scratches on Zevran's face and neck, where the skin has turned an angry red, even cracked with blue lines of blood. The ointment melts into the cracks, the skin visibly softens and the red tint mellows. 

The rest of Zevran's body is unmarred by the sun. Only a spot on his hand, where his glove has been torn, shows some burning. Alistair works the ointment into the skin and for some reason, that feels more intimate than anything else he has done so far. He holds Zevran's hand in his a bit longer, stroking over his knuckles with his thumb. Something in his chest burns and makes it hard to breathe.

With a shuddering breath, Alistair drops Zevran's hand and finds two woolen blankets to cover Zevran with. He hurries to wash himself with the now only lukewarm water and puts on a shirt before he wraps himself in the last blanket and lies down next to Zevran. His mat is narrow, he has to wrap himself around Zevran's body, lying flush against his side. Not that he minds that. 

As he holds Zevran in his arms, unable to sleep for the maelstrom of feelings and desires churning in him, he begins to notice small things about Zevran's body. While he is permanently cold, as expected, he has a heartbeat and he also breathes. Does his body need to breathe or is it just a habit, a memory from the time when he was still human? Alistair presses his hand on Zevran's chest, feeling his own warmth seep into him. It might be an illusion but it seems as if the muscles in Zevran's back relax a little.

The scent of peaches and fog surrounds him and feeling Zevran's heartbeat under his hand, slow and sluggish, he dozes off. When he wakes again, he has his upper arm wrapped around Zevran's body, his lower arm numb and trapped somewhere under him, and his erection pressed against Zevran's arse. Mortified, Alistair turns on his back, wincing as the blood prickles back into his arm and his arousal tents the blanket. 

When he wakes again, the tent is warm and bright from the sun and the place beside him is empty, the faint smell of fog in the night clinging to it. Alistair gets up and throws the blanket over his shoulders, holding it closed in front as he peeks through a gap in the tent flaps. A thin trail of smoke rises from the fire and a can with water sits in the glowing embers. Zevran kneels next to it, preparing another pitcher with a piece of linen and ground coffee. Morrigan steps out of her tent and Alistair hurries back to get dressed before Morrigan can see him and think of a scathing remark involving whatever is wrong with him.

"I see you yet live," Morrigan says, her voice muffled by the tarp of Alistair's tent. 

"I see you're not rejoicing that fact," Zevran says, his voice light and easy. As if he didn't almost die the night before.

"My preferences in company are not the deciding factor in this party."

Zevran lets out a little laugh, "I can assure you, o magical temptress, if my preferences were a deciding factor, I would still enjoy looking upon your alluring beauty every day."

Morrigan makes a noise that should put fear in every person who knows what she's capable of. "Again with the flattery. Do you not tire from these pointless exercises?"

"In Antiva, women are accustomed to being showered with the praise they deserve. Men should worship you at your feet as you pass."

"You should try this kind of praise on Alistair, he may be more susceptible to your sweet words." 

There is a long pause, Alistair almost shoves the tent flap aside to see what's happening, when he hears Zevran speak again with a dark tone in his voice.

"That won't happen, I assure you."

Not even Morrigan seems to have an answer to that. 

Alistair stands frozen. What does this mean? 

He probably didn't mean it as Alistair not deserving of his attention but isn't it true? What should he flatter Alistair about? About being a failed templar, a failed son, a struggling warden? A soon to be failing king if worst comes to worse. What quality should someone like Zevran, wonderful Zevran, praise about a bumbling kid like him? 

He takes a shuddering breath, fighting down the sorrow that wants to drown him. There's no point to this. It's his own fault for falling to Zevran's charms. What good can possibly come from falling for a vampire? Yet another thing he doesn't get right.

After a few more breaths, successfully shoving the turmoil in his heart in some locked up corner of it, Alistair ducks out of the tent. Morrigan regards him with a glare and then takes her cup of coffee and stalks back to her tent. Nobody else is there but Zevran, a guarded smile on his face.

"Ah, my dear Warden, I heard I owe you some thanks."

Alistair swallows every word down that he wants to say and hardens his heart. "It was nothing."

Zevran frowns and takes a step closer to Alistair. "Our beloved Warden Kallian told me that you carried me and took care of my injuries." 

Shaking his head, Alistair turns to the supply cart to look for something to make for breakfast. "Anybody would have done that. You are a valuable member of this group." He doesn't look at Zevran, not even when the vampire appears at his side, close enough to touch. 

"Still, I'm grateful that you helped me," Zevran says

"It's fine, I'm sure you would have done the same." Alistair puts oats into a pot and mixes them with water and turns to set it in the fire. Zevran stands in his way, looking at him with a strange expression.

"Ehm," Alistair stares at Zevran and then looks away, anywhere but in Zevran's eyes. "Don't you have to find some hare to feed from?" He winces at how harsh that came out.

Zevran nods and steps out of the way. If Alistair's brusk words hurt him, he doesn't show it. "You're right, I'm a bit famished. If you'll excuse me."

He doesn't wait for Alistair to answer and is gone in his cloud of fog before Alistair can apologize.


	7. Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the new year! I hope you are all healthy.  
> Let's get back into the story with a short chapter today.

* * *

Zevran laughs with Kallian and even Morrigan shows a tiny smile. He always has an easy story to tell, fighting the doom and gloom that threatens to hang over the camp at night. Alistair turns back to the fire and pokes it, bringing it to life again. Soft footsteps come up behind him and he looks over his shoulder to see Kallian approaching. Not Zevran.

"Don't look so disappointed," Kallian says as she bobs him on the arm. "It's you who's avoiding him."

Alistair can't disagree, he knows it's true. He's still avoiding Zevran. What could he possibly say to him? Alistair has nothing to offer to him but clumsy touches and silly questions. "It is what it is." 

Kallian leans her head against his arm. "But it doesn't have to be."

"Yes, it does." He crosses his arms in front of his chest and stares more intently into the fire.

"Oh, Alistair, this cannot go on."

"It has to. I don't like him." His eyes stray away from the fire, towards the spot near Morrigan's tent where Zevran had told his story. But only Morrigan sits alone at her small fire, stirring something in a copper pot that she hovers over the fire. 

"You know that sounds rather silly when you keep looking for him right this moment?" Kallian smirks up to him and Alistair feels a blush creep up his neck again. Kallian gives him another bob on his arm and walks back to Morrigan, leaving him alone with his stormy thoughts.

Of course he likes Zevran. The rose he picked in Lothering and wrapped in the enchanted cloth Sandal gave him, burns in his pocket. Sometimes during the days of travel, he feels for it with his fingertips, touching its soft petals. He dreams of giving it to him, of telling him how it felt to find such a beautiful thing in all the destruction and how it reminded him of Zevran. 

"Cara mia," Zevran's voice comes from somewhere behind him and Alistair almost shrieks. 

"Andraste's breath! You scared me half to death." Alistair turns around and finds himself face to face with the very same vampire that disturbs his sleep.

"I apologize." Zevran lowers his head, the moonlight turning it silver. "I wanted to ask..."

"Don't." Alistair shakes his head and sits down on his folded blanket. "Just don't."

Zevran gracefully settles down a bit further away from him, folding the length of his coat under him. "But my dear Warden, are you sure that you know what I wanted to ask?"

A bitter sound escapes Alistair's chest, as if he could chase the pain out with a cough or a laugh. "Why I'm avoiding you, what you can do to make it better..."

Zevran lays his head to the side. "I must apologize again. It seems you are far more attentive than most would assume." The moonlight now shines on the two wavy lines on his cheek. 

"Don't worry, it doesn't happen often." Alistair tears his gaze away from Zevran's face and pokes the fire again.

They sit in silence, Alistair not daring to look at Zevran. He stares into the flames again, but they still don't help in clearing his thoughts.

Zevran breaks the silence at last. "Are you afraid of me?"

Alistair looks up, taking in Zevran's face. The sharp, angular lines of his face, enhanced by the light and shadows from the fire, his ashen skin now golden from the fire, the tattooed lines on his face dancing in the same shadows. His long hair frames his face, silver on top from the moonlight and golden around his face. His eyes shine in amber and Alistair wants to curl up around the stabbing pain of longing in his chest. 

"I should be," he says, tearing his gaze away again.

"But are you?"

Alistair looks back to Zevran. "No."

Zevran smiles at him but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "That at least makes me glad. I swear that I would never hurt you." 

"I know, tainted blood, you mentioned that. But you wanted to, originally," Alistair says. "I mean, you're an assassin, it's kind of the point."

"You are correct." Zevran lets his hair fall over his face but his eyes still shine through the strains. "But when I took up this contract, I had no intention to fulfill it."

"But why even..." Alistair recalls the attack, how quickly it was over, badly armed mercenaries running away, how Zevran lay on the ground leaning on his arms, his head hanging low as if he waited for the executioner to cut off his head. The revelation hits him. "You wanted Kallian to kill you."

Zevran looks up, smiling again that smile that looks so much more like sadness. "A contract against two Grey Wardens? Tainted blood that is probably poisonous to me? My odds to survive were fashionably bad."

"How old are you?"

"For a vampire? Not very old. But I am tired."

"Well of course, you never sleep." The remark slips out before Alistair can stop himself. That was probably insensitive of him and he cringes in expectation of seeing the hurt on Zevran's face.

But Zevran laughs, loud and real, his eyes sparkling like jewels in sunlight. "That is true, my dear," he says at last, grinning at him.

"But that's not really..."

Zevran shakes his head, the sadness taking his face over again. "No, that's not really it."

Alistair swallows his questions, he doesn't want to pry and see more of that sadness on Zevran's face. But the silence settles deeply, pressing down between them. He looks back to Zevran, his eyes drawn to the tattooed waves on his cheek. Without any conscious thought, his hand stretches out, his fingertips brushing over the lines. He wonders if he was still a boy or a living man when he got them or if he had already been turned. Maybe the lines were his mark of progression to become a vampire, a sign and warning to everyone else.

A gasp from Zevran rips him out of his bumbling thoughts and he pulls his hand away. Zevran grabs his wrist with lightning speed, holding his hand in his own. 

"Alistair, I still have to ask." Zevran's eyes meet his. "Why are you avoiding me?"

The scent of peaches hits Alistair's nose and his bumbling thoughts wonder if the smell is meant to attract him, like a flower attracts bees. He keeps staring at Zevran until he realizes that he has to answer his question.

"I... I don't know how to be friends with you." 

"Oh, but my dear Warden, there's no science to this, you — "

Alistair grabs Zevran's arm and pulls him forward and crashes their lips together. He knows he's clumsy, he has no idea what he's doing but Zevran's lips are soft and yielding and warm. 

They are warm. Not cold. Warm and soft and opening for him. 

He freezes. He hasn't planned this far. He hasn't even dreamt this far.

Zevran seems to sense his rising panic and slowly backs away, licking his lips as he watches Alistair. There is a tiny drop of blood on his canine tooth and his tongue flicks over it, licking it away. Alistair feels the corner of his lip with his tongue, where Zevran's tooth pricked him. 

Zevran's hand touches his cheek and Alistair closes his eyes. Maybe if he doesn't see, time will stand still and reality will not demand his acceptance. 

"I see," Zevran says softly. His hand is still on Alistair's cheek, his thumb softly stroking over it. "I understand. It is difficult for me too."

Alistair keeps his eyes closed until Zevran's hand leaves his face. When he finally opens his eyes, Zevran has gotten up and taken several steps back. He hovers at the edge of light the fire gives off and watches him. 

"It is difficult for me too, cara mia."

He turns around and disappears into the darkness like fog.


	8. Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're slowly getting to the heart of the matter and I, ahem, upped the chapter prediction because I see much more happening here.  
> With that, welcome to the Frostbacks!

* * *

The Frostback Mountains are desperately cold. Alistair knows coldness, he's fereldan after all but this cold is vicious. It creeps into every crevice, turning leather into hardened wood and causes metal to burn on the skin. The wind beats down on them, blowing away what little warmth gets trapped between layers of cloth. 

Alistair can't feel his feet anymore, his boots are wet and sink deep into the snow with every step. Next to him, Zevran huddles deep into his coat, his teeth shattering.

"So, vampires get cold too," Alistair says, wistfully watching the warm air escaping from his mouth as he speaks. 

"Yes-ss, we just don't dd-die from it." Zevran's speech is interrupted by the violent shivers that go through him every few seconds. "But even our blood doesn't like this-ss temperature."

Alistair looks down to Zevran's feet, the leather of his boots dark with wetness and he sinks into the snow with every step just like him. "I thought your kind can walk over the snow."

"S-ss-sadly, that rumour is untrue, whether you mean elves or vampires."

Kallian waits for them at the next slightly sheltered curve of the path. A few raggedy trees valiantly stand against the pounding wind, providing a much needed protection for a break. Kallian stands with her back bowed, looking older than her actual years. "I think we should find a shelter and look for that pass tomorrow, what do you think, Alistair?"

"Why are you asking me?" 

"Because I think I should." The stubborn streak around her eyes is familiar by now and Alistair has learned not to argue. 

He pulls his scarf down to his chin. "If we keep on like this, we'll be stuck in the cold, in the dark and probably get eaten by bears."

"I agree," Kallian says. "There was a cave entrance a little ways back, we should go there for the night." 

They turn around to walk back. Now the wind hits them, ice blowing into their faces. Alistair pulls his scarf as high as he can and then looks through the slit between the hood of his coat and the scarf at Zevran. The poor elf looks even paler than usual, his skin almost grey. He has his hood pulled down low but no scarf protects his face.

"Don't you have a scarf?" Alistair asks, yelling against the wind.

"I do not, no." Zevran presses closer to Alistair, trying to hide from the wind. 

Alistair sighs and pulls down his hood. The wind bites at his ears as he unwraps one of his scarfs from his neck. "Put your hood down," he says to Zevran.

"Ah, there is no need — "

"Put your hood down, my ears are going to fall off."

Zevran pulls at his hood, pushing it back. The wind immediately tangles his blond hair, letting it fly around his head as he stares up to Alistair. 

Alistair swallows against the pain constricting his chest. He can't look into Zevran's eyes, can't bear to see the rejection and pity in them. He hasn't stopped wanting Zevran, not for one moment, but he shoves the wanting all the way down in his chest, ignoring how it presses against his ribs.

Focussing on his task, he wraps the scarf around Zevran's head, trapping his flying hair into the pile of wool and then pulls the hood back over. His face is hidden completely now, his eyes shadowed under the deep rim of the hood and the scarf wrapped up to his nose. Alistair turns away and wraps his shawl tight again, hurrying to pull the hood back over his freezing ears.

"Stay behind me," he says to Zevran without looking. He lowers his head and stomps forward against the wind. 

Kallian and the rest of their group have disappeared up ahead. Alistair hurries to catch up with them but in the snowstorm, he almost walks past them. An exploding fireball in front of his feet, most probably courtesy of Morrigan, stops him and he can just about make out the mouth of the cave next to him. He grabs Zevran's arm and pulls him after him.

When they reach the cave, the wind finally lets go of them. They duck into the cave and Alistair blinks as ice begins to melt from his lashes. The cavern quickly warms up from several fireballs that Morrigan scatters around the cave, warming the surrounding stones and shedding an orange light. The cave is fairly spacious behind the small opening and it seems to go further into the mountain in the back.

"Do you sense darkspawn?" Kallian asks Alistair. 

He listens into himself for the feeling of dread as his blood treacherously calls to the dark horde to join them, but there is nothing. He shakes his head, his mouth still too cold to work right. 

"Me neither," Kallian says. "Still, we're gonna stay up here, there's a tunnel back there but I don't want us to go deeper."

Alistair nods and flops down next to a fireball. He lays his pack next to him and pulls out his mat and blankets in the hope that they'll dry in time for him to sleep. He expects Zevran to sit down next to him but when he looks around, he can't see him anywhere. 

The fireball still glows and warms him when Alistair wakes up again. Someone must have thrown a blanket over him as he slept, apart from that, he still wears his armor and even has his sword tied to his hip. He raises his head and groans as he catalogues the various pinches and pains in his body from the uncomfortable sleeping position. He looks around, counting his companions sleeping next to the warmed stones around the cave. Sten sits near the entrance, a fireball glowing at his back and his axe across his lap. Alistair scrambles to get up and walks over to him.

"Are you alright?" he asks when he is next to Sten.

"Yes."

"Have you seen Zevran?"

Sten looks up to him. His expression is one of calm disinterest. "The vampire went into the tunnel."

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know." With that, Sten turns back to the mouth of the cave, ignoring Alistair. 

Alistair glares at the dark entrance to the tunnel in the back. He should forget it, he should stay in the cave, but his feet already carry him towards the back. At the entrance of the tunnel, he hesitates. The darkness is menacing, like a solid wall that swallows all light. Alistair turns back to his pack and searches until he finds a few leather bands. He ties them around a fireball, hoping that the magic will prevent them from burning through. With the fireball dangling from his hand like a lantern, Alistair goes back to the tunnel and steps into the darkness. 

The gentle glow from the fireball does a lot to make Alistair feel better. With the oppressive darkness chased away, the tunnel appears to be less dangerous, even spacious. The ground is quite smooth, except for a few sections where part of the ceiling has come down, and it looks like someone took great care in constructing it. Dwarves probably. Alistair shudders at the thought, if dwarves build a tunnel, the Deep Roads are usually not far away and he has no urge to go into those today.

"Zevran?" Alistair listens to his voice travelling down the tunnel. "Zevran, are you here?"

A groan comes from further ahead and Alistair hastens his steps. The tunnel forks into a larger and a smaller hole near the ground. "Zevran?"

"Alistair, you have to leave." 

Zevran's voice guides him into the smaller tunnel. He ducks down, scraping his back on the way in and appears in a small room that ends abruptly after a few long strides. Alistair turns on his heels, holding the fireball in its sling up. 

A shadow moves and Zevran steps into Alistair's circle of light. "Alistair, you have to leave." 

"Why?" Alistair looks Zevran up and down. He's very pale and his eyes are hidden in deep shadows and with his hunched shoulders he looks unusually small. "Why are you hiding here?"

"Cara mia, please go."

Alistair frowns and leans back. "No, tell me what's wrong."

With a hush of displaced air, Zevran appears in front of him, his mouth pulled wide into something that is not a grin, his pointed canines flashing in the light. When he speaks, his voice sounds hollow. "I haven't fed in days. There were no hares, no fennecs on this dreadful trek through snow and despair." 

Zevran steps closer, his eyes closing as he breathes in. "I'm hungry, dangerously hungry." He opens his eyes again and stares at Alistair's neck before his gaze slowly travels up to Alistair's eyes. With a whimper, he steps back. "Leave me."

Alistair realizes that he forgot to breathe and gulps in air. "What..." He stares at Zevran, trying to calm his racing thoughts. "What will happen?"

Zevran steps back even further until his back hits the rough stones of the cave. "The hunger will overcome me. I have to feed, it's inevitable. I'm fighting it but I cannot win against my instincts." 

Alistair lowers the fireball to the ground and takes a step back, his hand going to his sword. "And then?" 

Turning his head to the side, Zevran hides his expression from Alistair. "You have to protect yourself and the others, protect them from me. Don't let me leave this cave."

"But how..." Alistair's voice gets stuck in his throat. He doesn't need to ask this question, he already knows the answer. "I can't kill you."

"You — "

The ground shakes and the mountain groans. With a deafening crack, the ceiling comes down as one shattering weight.


	9. Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back!

* * *

The rocks would have buried Alistair if Zevran had not moved so fast, throwing himself against Alistair and pushing him to the wall of the cave. As sudden as the cave-in happened, everything is quiet again. 

Dust floats in dim light, settling on Alistair's face. He coughs, pushing against Zevran's weight on him. 

"Zevran?" 

The elf doesn't move. Alistair pushes up, cataloguing once again all the pains and injuries on his body, and then looks Zevran over. He seems to be uninjured, and at last, his eyes flutter open. His gaze snaps to Alistair, an unusual redness around his irises. He looks up to Alistair's forehead and his eyes go wide. Alistair touches his forehead, feeling a gash under his fingers, and when he looks at his hand, his fingers are red with blood.

Zevran stares at Alistair's hand, and he licks his lips. He comes closer, breathing in. His shoulders are tense, his teeth long and pointy, and he looks like a wildcat ready to pounce on its prey. 

"Zev," Alistair says, keeping his voice calm. 

Something flickers over Zevran's face and he stares at Alistair just a moment longer until recognition dawns on his face and he recoils, stumbling back over the rocks towards the other side of the small cave. 

The fireball still glows somewhere under what used to be the cave ceiling, and in the dim light, it's obvious that they are trapped. Boulders the size of druffalos are piled on top of each other, blocking the exit. Alistair keeps an eye on Zevran in the shadow as he climbs over the rubble towards what used to be the exit. He yanks on the topmost rock he can reach, but it doesn't budge.

"Alistair." Zevran's voice has changed to a menacing growl. "Take your sword, now." 

Zevran's tone leaves no room for arguing, and Alistair keeps his eyes on him and feels for the pommel of his sword. He pulls it out and holds it out in front of him into the dark, ready to skewer whatever might come to attack him. And then he lowers it. It would be _Zevran_ attacking him. Even if his hunger changed him, it would still be Zevran.

"I can't kill you." 

At the sound of his voice, the dark shape of Zevran whips around to him. His eyes glow in a deep red. "You have to. Do it now, before I get too strong for you. Before I forget."

"No." Alistair puts his sword to the side and takes off one gauntlet. "You can drink from me."

"I can't. The taint."

Alistair sighs and pinches his nose. "Are you sure it will poison you? Has anyone tested that?"

Zevran lets out a laugh that grates in the ears. "Only you would ask a question like that. I don't know if anybody has tested that, but it's too late now."

"Why?"

Zevran leans slowly forward, setting his hands on the pile of rubble. His eyes are red, his canines long and pointy. He opens his mouth but no words come out, only a hissing growl. He moves on all fours, less like a cat and more like a spider, his back arched, his head raised high and Alistair barely gets his sword up in time and sets the tip of his sword against Zevran's chest, right where his heart should be. 

Another hiss, the grimace that used to be Zevran's beautiful face angles towards Alistair, his mouth drawn unnaturally wide. He presses forward, piercing himself with the sword tip until his shirt darkens with blue blood seeping into the fabric. He leans closer, daring the sword to pierce his heart, a vicious grin spreading on his face.

"Zevran." Alistair tries to step back but the wall of the cave is right behind him. The pommel of his sword hits the rock. "Zevran, wait."

Only a growl comes from Zevran, but he moves back a bit with a jerky twitch, as if the conscious part of him still fights against the feral part of him. Alistair searches for something in Zevran's eyes, something that shows that the kind, caring, smiling friend, the man he loves, is still in there.

Zevran's pupils are black and fill his iris, the white of his eyes glows red. There's nothing human or elven in his expression, nothing that used to be Zevran until for a moment, the red in his eyes recedes and he looks at Alistair with a pained expression. 

"Please, Alistair." The words sound strange, as if his mouth has forgotten how to form them. "Please don't... don't let me do thi — " The last word dissolves into a hiss, his eyes glowing red again.

Alistair forces his hand to grip the sword tighter. "Hold still." He raises his other arm, sets his wrist against the sharpened edge of his sword and slides it down, hissing at the pain as the sword cuts deep into his flesh. Blood wells up and Zevran lets out a snarl, his nostrils flaring.

"I don't know how much you still understand," Alistair says, more to calm himself than the vampire at the end of his sword. "But I hope that a bit of blood will clear your head enough to speak to me." He angles his arm so that the blood dripping from the cut slides down to his fingertip and holds his hand over Zevran's head. 

The vampire eagerly turns his head up, stretching towards Alistair's hand, but the sword tip piercing his chest holds him in place. He opens his mouth and lets the blood drip down his throat, a groan rising from his chest. He strains upwards, pressing against the sword. The blood drips slowly from Alistair's hand, it's not arterial blood and the wound is already closing again.

Zevran sighs, turning to Alistair. His eyes look almost normal again, the red receding. "It's not enough." He moves backwards, the sword tip sliding out of his chest.

"I know." Alistair lowers his arm and lays the sword to his side. "You have to bite me and drink from me. Just..." He looks at Zevran, trying to convince himself that he is back in control. "Just don't take too much, please."

"Take your sword so you can stop me," Zevran says.

"No, I trust you."

Zevran lets out a noise that sounds almost like a laugh. "As Morrigan would say, 'tis a pity," 

Before Alistair can react, Zevran is on him. Zevran's canine sink into his neck, piercing the skin. It hurts, it feels like knives cutting into him, and he cries out. It's a natural reaction to try to get away from the pain, but Zevran clings to him with frightening strength. Even if he tried, Alistair could not free himself from him.

Zevran sucks hard on the wound; Alistair can feel the blood streaming out of him like water breaking through a dam. He expects it to hurt more, but the pain disappears, replaced by a new feeling. Some kind of haziness settles over his mind and then — 

Before he can stop himself, Alistair moans. With the feeling of Zevran's mouth on his neck, licking and sucking, a rush of pleasure runs down Alistair's chest straight to his cock. Some part of him is embarrassed by his reaction, but he can't stop himself from pressing against Zevran's body, wrapping his arms around him to pull him closer and tilting his head to give him better access. 

Zevran stills, rigidly holding himself away from Alistair. He leans back, removing traces of blood, and looks at him with a frown. "Alistair."

"What?" The haziness floats out of his mind and Alistair blinks. 

"Are you alright?" Zevran's eyes are clear, the redness gone from them, and his face is as beautiful as ever, even if he currently frowns at Alistair.

"Yes," Alistair says after a short moment of listening into himself. "I feel good, I feel..." He looks at Zevran and a careful smile spreads on his face. "Do you feel good?"

"Yes, much better, I — "

Alistair surges forward and pulls him into a hug, breathing in his peachy scent as he buries his face in his neck. "You're back!" 

Zevran makes a strange sound and carefully puts his hand on Alistair's back. Alistair leans back so that he can look at Zevran and his eyes drop to his lips. It should weird him out, that his own blood made those lips so red, but all he can think about is how he needs to kiss them.

And he does. His lips brush over Zevran's, careful and chaste. Giddy yearning spreads in his chest and he nibs on Zevran's lower lip. 

But Zevran is frozen, not answering the kiss. 

Alistair moves back, despite all his feelings telling him that he needs to hold Zevran and kiss him more. "What is it?" He frowns, rationality returning as he catalogues his strange feelings. "Did you do something to me?"

"No!" Zevran shakes his head, his hair flying. "I didn't do anything, I swear." He scrambles to get away from Alistair, backing against the pile of rocks that fills up the cave. "I didn't... I didn't — "

He cries out, bending backwards in an unnatural angle and crashes onto the rocks, convulsing and whimpering in pain. 

"Zev!" Alistair grabs his body and pulls him towards him, his hand under Zevran's head to prevent him from hurting himself further. "Stay with me, please."

Alistair doesn't remember much from his own Joining but he remembers the pain, the nausea, and the loss of vision. He is prepared for Zevran flailing, grabbing blindly at nothing and finally clinging to Alistair, his hands clenching around the fabric of his shirt.

"It's alright, you're gonna be alright," Alistair chants, more to himself than for Zevran, who goes limp in his arms. "Please don't die, please don't die."


End file.
